


Trolling for Favors

by Miah_Arthur



Series: Vesemir Gets Freaky [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Danger Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Monsterfucker Vesemir, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Other, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur
Summary: Vesemir negotiates for peaceful coexistence between the newly formed School of the Wolf witchers and the trolls already living in the Kaer Morhen Valley...with his dick.
Relationships: Vesemir/Monster
Series: Vesemir Gets Freaky [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979416
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	Trolling for Favors

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas: Maimat and Hircine_Taoist

#  **Trolling for Favors**

Vesemir stood in a knot of seasoned witchers as Erland, and his twelve chosen companions mounted their horses in the Castle Morgraig courtyard. The young witchers fidgeted and milled about behind Vesemir's cohort, and in the corner, near the barracks, the children clumped together, putting on brave faces, but stinking of fear. 

Erland turned his horse to address the group. "We wish no violence, but any who attempt to hinder our departure will be met with force." 

"Off with ye then, and good riddance!" Barmin said, striding toward the horses. Barmin wasn't a large man. His appearance didn't strike awe or lust into people like Erland, but he inspired loyalty for the pack. 

Erland held his gaze for a long moment before whirling away and leading his troop—that he'd taken to calling the Griffins—out for the last time. 

Vesemir liked to think of himself as a good, solid witcher. He'd walked the path for seventy-eight years and returned at the end of each with supplies and coin. He had a reputation for not harming sentient creatures. Anytime someone commented on it, it made him smirk in private. If the rest only knew what he really did with willing, sentient creatures…

That aside, he was solid but not spectacular. Not legendary. And so here he stood, surrounded by other careful, solid witchers, watching those who were legendary ride away. 

Barmin turned to the group. "We that remain are the faithful few. Loyal. I've known each of you to think of the welfare of the group, and especially the boys, who are our future. We are like a pack of wolves. Not showy like a _Griffin_ , nor solitary like a Bear. I trust you all to ensure the survival of the pack this year." He scanned the group. "All departures will be delayed by a week. Go. An extra ale ration for each of you today."

The younger witchers trailed off in groups. The boys edged back into the barracks. At last, only the older witchers and Barmin remained. He motioned for them to follow him. A cave near the waterfall that cascaded from the peaks behind Morgraig served as a meeting place for witchers of all levels when they wanted to avoid eavesdroppers. 

Barmin knelt with his back to the wall, and the others ranged in front of him, as they each had as children in his classes. There were only six of them left who had more than fifty years on the path. 

"You are old enough to know that without Erland, the Order of Witchers is no more. Brurtinet fancies himself the sole master of this keep, and the only witcher he ever had an accord with was Erland. I can appease him for a time, but we need our own stronghold."

"How will our boys be put through the trials without a mage?" Stygis asked. He was older than Vesemir by forty years, the oldest of the witchers left behind. 

"Radam. His only magical talent lies in the manipulations of the Trials. Without us, he won't survive the world of mages. He'll go where we do."

"Where will that be?" Drimin rumbled. He was a tall, broad man with a clever mind and fingers. He'd started on the path fifty-one years before but hadn't walked many of those years. His smithing skill was too great to risk on monsters. 

Barmin looked over the group, and his eyes fell on Vesemir. "You will find us a new home. Go to the Blue Mountains. The cats and vipers occupy the south. The Bears are rumored to operate from Skellige, and the dwarves own the Mahakam Mountains. Take no contracts, return in the fall even if you've not had success." 

Vesemir puffed up with pride. To be trusted with such a vital task? He deflated. "What about the supplies?"

Barmin stood and patted Vesemir on the shoulder. "The young pups will provide. You always did. You'll leave tomorrow." Barmin stared into Vesemir's eyes. "Find us a new home. Our fate rests on you."

*** * ***

So he went out and searched. Somewhere with resources, somewhere fertile, most importantly, somewhere far from humans. 

The thought drove Vesemir deeper and deeper into the mountains. He failed the first year. And the second. Barmin couldn't get a fourth out of the head mage of Morgraig, Brurtinet. 

Vesemir had to be successful this year. 

When he first hauled himself over the ridge of the mountain with his climbing hammer in one hand, and his crampons jammed into the ice, he knew this was the place. A large lake steamed in the deep valley and a mix of trees and grasses covered the slopes. Deer, a whole herd of them, dotted the nearest meadow. 

He rolled onto the broad shelf of rock that capped the mountain. The slope on this side was much more shallow. The ice he'd struggled against all morning was absent on this slope, the air slightly warmer. The top of the mountain seemed scooped out like a bowl. He'd heard of mountains that spewed fire and smoke far, far away in Zerrikania. The book he'd seen called them volcanos and depicted craters like this. 

He sat and observed as the sun slowly crept across the sky. Wolves howled in the distance. A bear crossed the meadow. A pair of wyverns screeched and wheeled at the far end of the valley. If this was a volcano, it must be an ancient one. The trees were hundreds of years old. The valley teemed with life. 

He spent the next few weeks exploring the valley. There were drowners in the lake. Where on the continent _weren't_ there drowners? He spotted foglets in the distance but didn't engage them. The wolves and bears roamed along with deer and mountain goats. Even with the drowners, the lake’s fish flourished. Despite the elevation, the lake remained warm. Even in winter, this valley would be protected from the worst of the cold. 

On the opposite wall surrounding the valley, he found a place that hummed with chaos energy. The mages would love that. 

They'd need to clear the wyvern nest before bringing the children. He crept around, exploring the area while avoiding their attention. If he died fighting the beasts, this place would be lost to the witchers. Ruins lay in the shadow of the forktail nest. Not much more than foundations remained standing. They looked elven to Vesemir. Most importantly, many of the stones remained underneath the gnarled tree roots. The walls had toppled in ancient times, during the conjunction, or even before. That settled his mind about this mountain suddenly belching fire and swallowing them all up. 

Many of the shallower caves could be converted into temporary living quarters, but kikimore infested the deeper tunnels. Hot springs bubbled up from the ground and ran down the slopes to form a river. The only thing he yet lacked was a way to transport the horses, wagons, and children here. 

The narrow end of the valley looked as though it would offer the narrow pass that they would need. A healthy community of rock trolls lived in the crags there. If Vesemir wanted to explore the possibility of a pass, he'd have to make friends first. 

He killed two deer and dragged them toward the nearest troll outpost. He picked up the sounds of uneasy trolls all around him before one showed itself.

"What dis?" a sizable, grey-skinned troll asked, scratching its head on a bluff in front of him. 

"Witcher, man."

Another, smaller troll with red tinges to its skin joined the larger one. "What witchyman have?"

"You like deer?" 

"Kag like deerses. Why witchyman have deerses?"

"I want to be friends. I give you these deer. You let me travel. No fight, no smash."

"Ator, Atar, Narn takes deerses. Witchymans no attacks trollses?" Kag asked as three small trolls, no taller than Vesemir, thundered out of a hidden cave entrance. 

Vesemir had never seen such small trolls before. He itched to get his notebook out and document what he suspected was the first known encounter with juveniles of the species. They took the deer, the largest of the trio dragging a deer and the other two carrying one between them. They trotted off into the cave with their prizes. 

"Witchyman friend to troll. Bring more deerses." the smaller adult troll on the bluff said. 

"Not all the time."

"Witchyman smart. No kill all deerses." It nodded sagely. "Dus like witchyman. Witchyman go. Trollses no bother witchyman."

"I want to bring many witchymans"—he held his hand out waist-high—"and witchyboys. We want to live that way." He waved toward the broader end of the valley. 

"Not good thataway. Sky lizardses live thataway. They no taste good and spit burnses," Kag said shaking his head.

"I swear when many witchymans, we will kill the sky lizards."

"Why witchymans want live here? Humies no like here. Too cold, they says." Dus said.

"Witchymans aren't human. We need to hide from humans, to raise strong witchyboys."

"Hmm. Kag and Dus raise many troller. Strong troller. Witchymans raise strong witchyboys. Trollses raise strong troller. Good. Good," Kag banged his fists against the stone below him, and Kag and Dus turned away, and Vesemir had the sense that it meant an accord had been reached. 

"Wait. You will tell the other trolls we're friends?"

"Yes, yes. Tell all tribe be friends with witchymans," Kag called over his shoulder. 

Vesemir breathed in relief, less worried about a boulder flying through the air at his head from any unseen trolls. He made his way toward the lake. He hadn't explored this end of it yet. Kag said humans thought it too cold here. That meant people had been here before. He'd find the way, and next spring, they'd finally abandon the husk of Morgraig. 

At the edge of the water, a grisly sight caught his eye. A drowner head floated by. Drowners often scavenged their own dead, but this one hadn't been chewed. Vesemir crouched on the bank and pressed one hand to the ground. He focused his senses, listening, feeling for vibrations—no signs of living drowners anywhere. 

A path led along the bank, and he followed it. Troll likely—one far more formidable than Kag, judging by the height of the cleared undergrowth. The path led to a narrow beach and the remains of a drowner, the limbs and head ripped off. In the shallow water, the troll had constructed a stone pen, with a narrow opening lined with sticks arranged in a V. 

A clever troll to design a fish trap like this. Drowners would consider this an open buffet. No wonder the troll didn't like them. 

A roar and crashing warned him an instant before the troll charged onto the beach. "Leave Mica's fish be!"

Vesemir dodged, as far away from the fish trap as he could on the narrow beach. "I don't want your fish. I'm a friend."

Mica—his stony back sparkled and glittered in the light—swung a massively powerful but slow fist, and Vesemir dodged again. This was the largest troll he'd ever seen. Nearly half again his height when it stood upright, as it did now. "Easy now, I know Kag and Dus. I made peace with them and all their trolls."

"Mica not Kag's troll! Mica, Mica's own troll!" 

The power of the troll's voice thrummed through Vesemir's chest. He dodged into the trees as Mica charged. "I want to make peace with you, too!"

"Humanses not make peace. Humanses hates troller." Mica slowed as he spoke. 

"Not human. Witcher. Humans hate witchers, too." Vesemir stepped into the clearing, and kept his movements slow and voice low.

Mica tapped the ground with his fists. "What wisha do humanses hate wisha?"

"Witcher men want to live. Want to raise witcher boys. Here, away from humans. We don't want to—" 

Mica struck out lightning fast, cutting off the rest of his argument by dragging him into a bear hug. 

"Wishaman no bring more wishamans. No bring wishaboys. Kag soft. Dus soft. Mica stop wisherman." He squeezed, pressing Vesemir tighter against his chest. 

Vesemir tried to squirm his arm free, breathe, anything. His vision edged to black, and his medallion that had been faintly humming dug into his chest painfully hard.

"Uhhh. What wishaman doing?" 

Mica's grip loosened enough that Vesemir drew a deep breath. Something pressed hard against his boot. Was that? Fuck, it was. 

Mica eased his hold enough that Vesemir could squirm up, freeing his arms and chest. He braced his elbows on Mica's stony arms. He sucked in a deep breath. The troll could still easily decide to kill him if he said the wrong thing. No mentioning moving in more witchers! 

Mica looked down at him, those gnarled, protruding teeth far too close to Vesemir's face for comfort. "Rumble-umble feel good."

His medallion buzzed gently against his chest. He loosened his collar and freed the chain. "This?" He pressed it to Mica's chest. 

Mica hummed, and his body vibrated. The vibrations were particularly strong against his groin, pressed tight against the troll's body. His cock hardened. He couldn't. Not with a troll… Could he?

"Mmm, troller rumble-umble, it mean want mate." He shook his head, and Vesemir ducked back to avoid getting hit. "Mica need stop whishaman bring more wishamans."

"I'd rather make friends." Vesemir moved the medallion in slow circles. Mica's skin was streaky in color, browns, yellows, greys, even a few hints of green and purple when the light played across him, all overlain with a pearlescent sheen. " _Good_ friends. Friends don't need to fight."

The vibrations intensified. "Wishaman not like humanses. Humanses not want say want to mate with troller"

"No. They hurt witchers sometimes, too. Call us monsters."

"Huh. Loooong time no mate. Rumble-umble feel _good_."

"I like to make my friends feel good."

"Wishaman know how troller mate?"

His dick throbbed with anticipation. Vesemir licked his lips. "Not yet."

Mica threw his head back and guffawed. "Wishaman want mate with Mica. Wishaman itty-bitty. Mica big-big."

The cock bumping against his feet was big. He carefully ran the top of his boot along the underside of it. Broad, but not as broad as the Kayran's. Rough, but smoother than the katakan's. He shuddered. _Never another barbed dick_. It should be doable. 

Vesemir freed one arm and pressed the medallion against Mica's chest, rubbing slow circles. "Yeah, let's mate."

"Wishaman see Mica big-big. Wishaman be ascared."

Vesemir drummed the fingers of his free hand on Mica's chest. "I like my mates big."

"Huh. Mica feel good. Wishaman feel good. All good."

"All good," Vesemir said, nodding. How bad could it be?

"Mmm. In cave."

Mica's gait was awkward as he tottered forward fully upright, still clutching Vesemir to him. Inside, the cave was tall enough for the troll to stretch and not hit the ceiling, wide enough for him to pace ten steps deep, and twenty abroad. The floor was free of rocks and gravel and worn smooth by ages of him walking over it. Mica set Vesemir back on his feet. "Wishaman take shell off. Shell no good for mate."

Vesemir hastily shed his armor and clothes and put them on a high shelf of rock jutting out from the cave wall. "Remember, I'm squishy, not strong like a troll."

"Mica no hurt wishaman. Wishaman make rumble-umble on tail. Good, good."

Tail? Vesemir took a closer look between Mica's legs. What he'd taken for a cock bumping against him before was the troll's tail, engorged and flipped forward. That meant—Vesemir gulped—he had yet to see Mica's penis. 

How big could it be? He shook his head. He'd never wound a creature up and then backed out yet. He knelt and took his medallion off to press it to the base of Mica's tail. 

"Mmm. That good." Mica brought one of his massive hands to the back of Vesemir's head. The skin of Mica's palm was dry and warm with a pebbled texture, similar to a lizard's. Mica stroked down his back to his ass and back up. The touch was firm but not heavy enough to hurt, and the sheer power in that hand, the knowledge that like this, Mica could crush his head, snap his spine, rip him apart before he had time to react, made his cock so hard it ached. 

Mica's body shuddered, and his penis erupted from the middle of his tail with enough force that it slammed Vesemir back against Mica's palm. The head of the massive phallus unfurled in front of his face, obscuring everything else from his vision. It was brilliantly purple, the head almost as broad as his shoulders and the shaft as wide as his entire hand and nearly as thick. 

He blinked in astonishment, and a frisson of fear ran down his spine. How had _this_ been hidden away in the troll's tail? Penetration was out. He swallowed hard and squared his shoulders, his natural fascination overtaking the surprise. Nothing like this had ever been documented before. 

Vesemir traced the open vesicle that ran along the underside of the shaft. At the glans, it split into two channels feeding the two large lobes, where they split again. Each lobe came to two rounded tips. A sharp point jutted out between the lobes. Five-pointed glans? Four seminal grooves? He'd never seen anything like it. Liquid pulsed up the open grooves, glistened over the tips and slid down the shaft.

Mica grunted at Vesemir's touches and rocked his hips, sliding the behemoth penis up. The liquid ran faster, the slick texture spreading as the glans fluttered, opening and closing, brushing over Vesemir's face with each pulse. The skin was soft and silky smooth. Vesemir pressed forward and licked up the central point of the glans. The taste was briny but with depth to it. Like the time he'd discovered a deer’s salt lick in a bluff. Salt and minerals mixed with sandstone. 

Mica rumbled and petted him with that broad, stony hand. With that sign of encouragement, Vesemir dove in, licking and sucking. He ran his hands along the outer edges of glans, drumming his fingers as he went.

The folds waved around his face, gripping and releasing, pressing him tighter against the glans. The thin, clear fluid continued to trickle out of the open vesicles. It had an oily texture, and he was already drenched in it. The smell of the liquid was sharp, like wet pine needles with a hint of smoke. It coated his face, dripped from his hair, and ran down his chest, covering his balls and thighs. 

The folds closed around the sides of his head, and Mica thrust. The pressure and movement filled his nose and mouth; Vesemir yanked free and bent double coughing. 

"Wishaman hurt?" Mica chuckled. "Not think Mica so big?" 

"I'm sure we can work something out." He said after he caught his breath. The...pre-come? Was slick yet clung to his skin. 

"Wishaman make Mica feel good. Want mate now. Mica fit?"

Vesemir ran his hands over his body, smearing the pre-come over himself. It tingled on his skin, and he shivered with pleasure. "No. It's as big as I am."

"Wishaman small-small," Mica said shaking his head sadly. 

"Do trolls masturbate?"

"Huh. Not know word."

"I know it's tiny compared to you, but like this." He took his dick in hand and stroked. "Like that. Good-good."

Mica laughed, the sound tingling in Vesemir's back teeth. "Troller needs mate for big-big come out. No mate. No good-good."

"You can't fit inside me, but I can hold you like this."

"Wishaman's hand not big."

"My whole body." Vesemir took his medallion off and set it aside. He squatted in front of Mica and wrapped his arms around Mica's shaft, trapping it between against his body. He surged up and down, the pre-come creating an easy glide.

Mica grunted, and one hand reached for the wall behind them. Vesemir kept moving, bouncing between squatting and nearly standing. The tops of his thighs burned with the unfamiliar workout. 

"Huh. Feels good. Not good be still. Mica needs move-move."

Vesemir knelt. Different options ran through his mind, but none seemed more likely than the others. His erection flagged. Had he finally failed?

"Huh! Mica knows! Thisaway," Mica said, and he pushed Vesemir onto his back in a puddle of pre-come. He heaved, and the giant glans slapped down onto Vesemir's chest. "Wrappy legs round big-big."

The weight of the shaft pressed his cock to his stomach. He flung his legs up, locking his ankles together over the top, and it weighed heavily on his balls, too. The folds of the glans groped and caressed at his chest. Looking up, up, up to Mica's face, and his own insignificance in comparison to the body above him, humbled him. 

"Now mate." Mica bellowed. His fists landed on the wall far above Vesemir's head.

Vesemir threw his arms up to brace on the wall, but Mica snapped his hips back. Vesemir slid away from the wall, losing his bracing. The groping, caressing movements of the underside of the glans rested on his cock. 

Vesemir groaned and jerked his hips, chasing his own pleasure. His legs slipped and slid, and he had to force his ankles to stay together. 

With a mighty grunt, Mica jerked forward. Vesemir caught himself. The weight of the shaft was crushing and yet only made him more excited. The glans raced over his chest onto his face, and he eagerly lapped at it, despite how it threatened to smother him. 

Mica panted and shifted his hips minutely, letting Vesemir lick and suck. He couldn't see anything beyond the broad, jewel-colored glans. More pre-come flowed out, all along the open vesicles, on the shaft and the glans. If the troll made this much pre-come, the actual deed must be a flood. The thought of meeting the gods and explaining that he died by drowning in troll semen made Vesemir squirm. 

...And made his dick throb. He rocked his hips and slid his legs along the length of the troll's shaft harder and faster. His inner thighs and lower back strained with the motion and the weight of the troll's cock pressing him down.

Mica took that as a sign that Vesemir was ready for more. He jerked his hips, thrusting fast and hard, and Vesemir did his best not to let his head slam into the wall. The magnificent bulk of the troll surrounded him, coated in the evidence of its pleasure, _dominated_. He had no choice but to try to hold on. His arms rammed into the wall, the impact jolting through his shoulders. He slid back and slammed forward with each snap of Mica's hips. The impacts with the wall came faster, and he feared his hand slipping and his head being bashed against the rock. His legs shook and slipped. 

The troll roared and grunted, _using_ him, and the thought pushed him over the edge. His first orgasm ripped out of him in white-hot pleasure. Nothing _safe_ had ever made him come so hard. 

The troll didn't let up the pace of his movements. The weight and pressure gliding over Vesemir's cock and balls was too much now. They were sensitive with his release, but he was semi-hard, and the pain edged into pleasure as it always did. 

Vesemir's muscles shook with the effort of keeping himself in place. The need to breathe closed in on him. The heavy troll cock bobbed and jounced Vesemir up and down, thudding his back against the floor. His view stuttered between the troll's chest, flushed red and the bright purple of his cock. Mica jerked his hips back, the glans slamming hard against the grip of Vesemir's thighs. He squeezed, desperate not to let it fall away. The folds worked frantically, squeezing and gripping his cocks and balls, and Vesemir went from semi-hard to edging toward orgasm in a few heartbeats. 

Hot, thick, sticky cum pulsed out as Mica shuddered and moaned above him. The folds gripped Vesemir's cock and squeezed hard. He pumped his spoonful of come into the flood coming from Mica, and then it was over. The glans folded back into themselves, and the penis disappeared into Mica's body as fast as it had exploded out of it. With a tremendous thud, Mica crashed to the floor, breathing hard. 

Vesemir sucked in deep breaths, greedy for air. He swiped as much of the mess off his face as he could. "Fuck."

"Good for Mica. Good for wishaman?"

He shifted his hips; the troll spend was copious and gluing him to the floor. His jaw hurt. Oh. The central point had been jamming into him there. He hadn't noticed it with all his focus on holding on to Mica's cock. His arms ached from the effort of not bashing his head into the wall. He was going to be sore tomorrow… everywhere. He'd never been this tired after a fight with a creature. He tested himself, shifting with caution. Nothing was broken, but moving was going to take a while. 

A smile spread over his face. He'd been fucked by a troll and lived to _not_ tell the tale. He peeled his arm out of the mess and patted Mica's stony shoulder. " _Very_ good for wishaman."

After several minutes, Mica said, "Want fish? Mica catch for wishaman."

"Friends, then?"

Mica rolled up onto his feet. He slid his enormous, powerful hands under Vesemir's shoulders and knees and pried him loose from the sticky trap of come. He waddled outside and deposited Vesemir in the warm, shallow water outside the fish pen. He patted Vesemir on the head—a motion that threatened to pound him into the lake bottom—and said, "Friends."

His fishing method involved slamming his fists into the water so hard that the fish floated to the surface, stunned. He scooped them up one by one, shoving them into a large basket. He stomped into the cave and returned, carrying his giant cooking pot. He scooped water and flushed the mess out of the cave. 

He came back again and stood on the lakeshore, using sand to scour the pot clean. He chuckled. "Wishaman turn into fish?" 

Vesemir sat up with a groan. "Not yet."

"Want share Mica's stew?"

The pot was clean, and the fish fresh, so it seemed worth the risk. "Yes, thank you."

"Scrubba, scrubba clean. Soup not take long."

The willow root in his pack called to him, as did the soap, so after he'd freed himself of most of the mess, he stumbled into the cave to gather his things. The stew pot bubbled, fish—bones and all—simmered in the cauldron. A mushroom bubbled up to the top. One that, while not fatal to a witcher, wouldn't make his day more pleasant. 

"On second thought, I think I'd rather roast a fish if that's alright with you."

"Yah, yah, Mica save one for wishaman. Humanses not like soup. Choke and fall down after eat soup. Wishaman fall down if eat soup?"

"I think I'd live, but I wouldn't feel good."

"Burn fish in fire. Good for humanses and wishamans."

"Yes. I'll be back, going to finish scrubbing."

Mica chuckled. "Troller big-big mess on little wishaman."

Vesemir laughed. "Yes."

He used all his remaining soap, and the odor of pine needles and smoke clung to him. He gave it up. The stickiness was gone, at least. He dressed in his underclothes and tunic, leaving his armor to the side. The tingling he'd felt in the beginning grew, but he brushed it off.

The fish Mica left for him was only a little pulverized. He scaled and gutted it, wrapped it in leaves, and buried it in the ashes at the edge of the cooking fire. His tiny cook pot heated on the rocks near it for tea. After they'd eaten, Mica reclined near the fire, rumbling, which Vesemir took as a joyful sound.

"Are all trolls as big-big as you?"

"Mica big-biggest!"

"I believe it. Do you all look the same?"

"Uhh, Mica not know. See Mica's. Few more. Kag not same. Dus like Kag more-more."

"Are you from a different tribe of trolls?"

"Tribe gone. Humanses kill. Long-long time. Mica climb-climb. Lake nice. Cave nice. No mate." He shook his head. "Not nice."

"I'm sorry. That sounds very lonely."

"Yes. Lone-ly. Wishaman lone-ly? That why want mate with Mica?"

The last three years, he'd spent three full seasons searching, only returning to Morgraig for the winters, and there were so few of them left now, too few that he didn't see as his children. The winters had been lonely as well. "Yes. I'm lonely, too."

Mica scratched his belly. "You bring wishamans, wishaboys; they hurt little troller tribe. Maybe make Kag lone-ly like Mica."

"I swear, the witchers will leave the trolls alone, as long as the trolls leave the witchers alone. We'll build on the ruins at the other end of the valley."

"With bad sky lizardses?" He snorted.

"Witchers are good at killing those. We will need to travel up and down the mountain, though. The boys can't climb the way I did."

"Huh. Mica show wishaman good-good way after sleep." He rolled over, and an awful, grating sound that vibrated Vesemir's feet shook each breath. 

Snoring. Vesemir shook with silent laughter. Trolls snored. He weighed his options—in the cave with the snoring troll or outside with the drowners? With a sigh, he settled into a niche in the back of the cave. He updated his bestiary and tried to ignore the increasing sensation of prickles and itching across his skin. 

He swore to never speak of the rash that plagued him the next several days.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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